


Five Times Stiles Was Wrong About Werewolves (and Derek) And One Time He Was Right

by pulangaraw



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>... or a fic about Teen Wolf Fandom fic tropes and how they are driving me crazy but I still can’t stop reading them. </b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Stiles Was Wrong About Werewolves (and Derek) And One Time He Was Right

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot to Torra for beta reading this and making sure I got across what I actually wanted to say. You're my hero! *smishes*

**Territory/Scent Marking**

“So,” Stiles says, businesslike, and spreads a map out on the old kitchen table in Derek’s house. “What’s your territory?”

Derek frowns at him. “What?”

Stiles waves his hands about as he explains. “Your territory, you know, where the pack may roam free, unchallenged and intruders will be ripped into itty bitty tiny pieces and all that.”

“There is no territory.”

“What?” Stiles splutters. “But all the research says...”

“Wikipedia is not research, Stiles."

"But-,"

"Neither is reading Twilight. The research is wrong.”

Stiles looks like someone took his favourite food away. “But you’re-”

“If you say ‘wolves’ I’m going to make you eat the map,” Derek threatens, but there’s no real heat behind it.

When Stiles’ jaw clicks shut, Derek sighs. “We’re not wolves. We’re werewolves. Mostly human. We can go wherever we want because if we meet someone we don’t like we can solve our problems using _our words_.”

Stiles huffs and crosses his arms. “Stupid internet.”

After a moment he asks, “So does that mean you aren’t scent marking things either?”

“Stiles!”

“Okay, okay. I get it. No scent marking necessary. Mostly human. Communication and all that. Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

 

**Mates**

“So,” Stiles says and Derek can feel a headache building already. It’s late and they’re all stretched out sleepily on the various sofas that they have assembled in the living room of Derek’s no-longer-so-terribly derelict house and Derek was looking forward to some quality dozing time when Stiles speaks up. This never ends well.

“Is the internet right about the whole ‘mates’ thing?”

“Stiles,” Scott whines somewhere on the left. Derek wishes he could do the same. He sighs and hates himself for asking.

“What ‘mates’ thing?”

Stiles waves his hands about, he does way too much talking with his hands, Derek thinks. “You know, finding a mate for life, the whole bonding thing and all that?”

“No.”

“No what?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Just no. The internet is not right about the whole ‘mate’ thing.”

“Oh.”

“Again, Stiles, may I remind you that we are essentially human and yes we do fall in love, but we also fall out of love and we are free to pick and choose who we want to have sex with or spend the rest of our lives with.”

Stiles shifts in his seat. Derek smiles a little to himself. “Yeah, okay.”

 

**Derek’s education**

“You should get a job,” Stiles says apropos of nothing.

Derek looks over at him. Stiles is driving, so Derek keeps his voice neutral when he asks, “And why, pray tell, should I do that?”

“As a cover. I mean, the police already think you are some sort of suspicious individual - and yes, I am aware that it’s partly my fault and I have apologised for that already - and no one knows how you pay for the rebuilding of the house or your food and all... So, if you were to hold down a steady job, maybe people would stop feeling so weird about you.”

“I’m paying with the insurance money from the fire, everyone could check that if they were interested.”

“I know that,” Stiles says quietly. He doesn’t like to bring up the death of Derek’s family, but Derek’s almost getting used to it now. It’s a side effect of being around a lot of young people with inefficient brain-to-mouth filters.

“I still think it would be a good idea. What are you good at?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you good at? So we can think of a suitable job for you to apply. And I mean besides lurking in dark corners, threatening innocent youngsters and breaking into houses through open windows.”

“I’m a chef.”

The jeeps swerves. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m a chef,” Derek enunciates clearly.

“You’re a chef.” Stiles sounds incredulous. Derek tells him so.

“Excuse me, man, but that’s... unexpected, okay. I mean. I wasn’t even sure you’d finished high school after you left Beacon Hills-”

“Why wouldn’t I finish high school?”

“I don’t know, okay? I just assumed...”

Derek resists the urge to facepalm. “Stiles, I finished high school, I finished college and I became a chef. I’m a pretty good chef. I even had a good job at a good restaurant before I came back to Beacon Hills. Happy?”

There’s a slow, wide grin spreading over Stiles’ face and Derek doesn’t like it. Not one bit. This smile prophecies bad ideas.

“You are so going to prove that when we get to your place. You’re going to cook tonight and if it’s good, there’ll be no more take-out on Pack Nights. It’s just not healthy.”

Derek does facepalm.

 

**Smelling Emotion**

“Stiles, you need to calm down.”

“I’m trying ok, stop smelling my emotions, you supernatural creeper.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, going for reassuring, “We’re going to be fine. The others are on their way and there is no way for those guys to break through the mountain ash barrier and nothing is going to happen to you. Calm down, please.”

Stiles, Derek can tell, makes an effort to calm down. He’s not entirely successful, but Derek can give him kudos for trying. He’s not actually an asshole, despite what Scott might think.

It’s much later, when they’re all safe and sound and the threat of the week is dealt with that Derek remembers Stiles’ exact words.

“Stiles,” he says and pokes him in the shoulder to make sure Stiles is not nodding off while he is talking.

“Mmmh?” Stiles answers sleepily, half turning on the sofa to squint up at Derek.

“I can’t smell your emotions.”

“Wha’?”

“I just wanted to you to know that I can’t _smell_ your emotions, despite what the internet says.”

“You’re lying. I know you’re lying because how else would you know if I am panicking? You’re a lying werewolf who lies,” Stiles says, still sounding more asleep than awake. Post-adrenaline crash, Derek knows.

Derek sighs. “You’re not exactly subtle, Stiles. I don’t need to be able to smell anything to know what you are feeling. Simple observational skills are more than enough.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I mean, it helps that I can hear your heart rate when I’m close enough and that I can smell your sweat, but that’s not the same as smelling emotions. Just wanted to make that clear.”

“Okay. Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. G’night.”

“Good Night, Stiles.”

Derek allows himself a small smile as he heads up the stairs to his own bedroom.

 

**Puppy Piles**

“Okay, I am really sorry, I wasn’t going to ask, but I simply can’t not ask, I have to know what’s going on at Casa de Derek during full moons.” Stiles says in a rush. Like it makes it somehow more bearable when he says it really fast.

Derek stops chopping tomatoes to favour Stiles with one of his trademark looks. Stiles’ cheeks are flushed, but he holds Derek’s gaze. Out in the living room, the rest of the pack is noisily discussing Coach’s newest Lacrosse strategies and how cool it would be if witches were real. Derek doesn’t really know how these two topics go together, but apparently they do. That’s what he gets for choosing to create his pack out of weird teenagers.

“Well?” Stiles asks when Derek isn’t forthcoming with any information. “I’m just curious. I mean, I know why I’m not allowed to join you guys, breakable human and all, trust me, we’re all well aware of our shortcomings where werewolves are concerned. I mean Lydia and Alison and me. But I dying of curiosity here. Is there bounding around in the forest? Do you feast on rabbits and then curl up in one big puppy pile to sleep away the rest of the night? Do you howl at the moon in harmonies or what?”

Derek shakes his head, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Come on, it can’t be worse than any of the things I just mentioned”

“There are no ‘puppy piles’,” Derek says after a moment.

“Oh good! Wait, does that mean-”

“No puppy piles, no harmonious howling, no ‘bounding around’, okay?”

“Oh. So what does go on?” Stiles sounds really intrigued.

“We sit around in the basement and play poker,” Derek says dryly.

“Really? You’re joking right?”

Derek raises his eyebrows.

“You’re not joking. Oh my god, you guys are so lame. Here I thought there would be puppy piles and-”

“Stiles, why are you so obsessed with puppy piles?” Derek makes the question sound like he’s only half-interested in the answer, going back to chopping tomatoes.

“Because...” Stiles hedges, “the internet?”

Derek thought so. “No puppy piles, Stiles. You know why?”

“Because you’re mostly human,” Stiles says like reciting an old litany. Which by now it kind of is.

“Exactly. Me personally, I sleep in my room in my bed. What the others do I don’t know and I don’t care. You want to know, ask them.”

“I will, trust me.” Stiles says, grinning and takes a few bouncing steps towards the kitchen door.

“Hey guys...,” Derek hears Stiles address the other a few seconds later.

“No puppy piles, Stiles,” Boyd says dryly, over-pronouncing the rhyme.

“You’re a weirdo,” Erica says almost at the same time.

“I’ll show you puppy piles,” Scott shouts and then there are a lot of shrieking and crashing noises and Derek shakes his head, smiling. Yep, it’s definitely his own fault if he has to replace the coffee table again tomorrow. He sometimes wonders what possessed him to choose these guys.

He thinks about it while stirring the sauce. No, he definitely doesn’t regret it.

 

**Derek**

“You like me,” Stiles announces, stepping into Derek’s bedroom.

“Uhm?” Derek says and sits up. He’d been mostly asleep, it is pretty late already and he’s had a long day and he’d been assuming the others were crashing as well in whichever spots they had claimed for themselves after defeating a family of werebeavers earlier that day. Apparently he’d been wrong.

“You like me,” Stiles repeats. “Like like me.”

“No.”

“Liar. I know I’ve been wrong about some things werewolf - or you - related, but I know I’m right on this one. Derek Hale, you like me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“You know I’m not. I’m just tired of pretending I don’t know about it and maybe almost getting my fingers chewed off by a deranged werebeaver earlier made me reconsider my life choices - not like that,” he adds when he sees the alarm on Derek’s face.

Derek relaxes his muscles until his expression resembles one of calm authority. Or so he hopes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You can deny it all you want, I know you know I’m right and I’m going to prove it.”

Stiles steps further into the room, advancing on the bed. Derek is still mostly lying down, propped up on his elbows to keep Stiles in his line of vision.

“Stiles,” he warns.

“Nu-uh, not listening to you,” Stiles says and stops, bending over Derek where he’s lying down.

“Don’t kill me,” he mutters, then bends further down and plants a kiss on Derek’s mouth.

Derek keeps perfectly still until Stiles pulls back and straightens up, a strangely lost expression on his face.

“Okay,” Stiles says and turns to do.

“Oh for the love of...” Derek says and snatches Stiles wrist. He pulls him back and down onto the bed next to him. When Stiles is done flailing, Derek gently pulls his head closer and kisses him back.

They don’t stop kissing for a long time, but when they do, Stiles does an airpunch and crows, “I knew I was right.”

“Shut up,” Derek mumbles and pulls him back in.


End file.
